Sherlock's Choice
by Keplaz
Summary: Sherlock and Molly are finally together after the Final Problem when Irene Adler returns with her eyes set on getting Sherlock for herself. Will Sherlock's romance with Molly survive or will Sherlock give into temptation? Pure Sherlolly or Shadler? Only time will tell. Contains spoilers from Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

The door burst open, cracking like a pistol as it smashed against the back wall. A woman blazed through, like an inferno, in a skin tight leather cat suit, brandishing a whip with wicked looking tassels.

"You chose her!" She screamed, her handsome features contorted with incandescent rage.

She looked like a creature from hell, her fury burning with caustic heat.

"Ah.." Sherlock started to say but the sentence stayed unfinished as a blow crashed against his cheek, rocking his head sideways.

The whip, he thought rather belatedly, but it was in the wrong hand, she can't possibly have produced that much force with her weaker side.

"I'm ambidextrous, you fool!" The woman said, switching hands for effect and attempting another blow.

He was an open book to her, as always.

He caught the whip this time, pulling her close in an attempt to restrain her. He could feel her body writhing against his as she tried to escape. Soft flesh taut against his body. She was stronger than she looked and her anger had made her into a force of nature.

He drew her in much closer using every muscle in his lanky body. Her smell was musky and sweet. He could almost taste it. There was something alluring about it, seductive, addictive, like he couldn't have enough. It was as if she could sense the power her scent had over him. She stopped struggling and snuggled up to him, drawing him into her body.

"What's going on, Sherlock? What is she doing here?" a quiet voice said from the direction of the door.

Sherlock looked up. Molly Hooper stood at the door, hands on her hips. She always looked pretty in pink, he thought. He'd bought her that sweater for her birthday. Well, Mrs Hudson had chosen it and gone to the shop to get it and taken the money out of his rent, but it had been his idea. She wore it whenever she came to stay over. She knew how he liked the way it emphasised the colour of her eyes.

John Watson and Rosie were next to her. They'd just been to the park and Rosie was carrying a red ball in her little fingers.

"The Woman…" he spluttered, but before he could say anything else, he sensed it before he saw it.

Her hand had snaked up to his head and tilted it downwards with delicate strength. Her lips were engulfing his, her tongue an experienced invader exploring his mouth. He could feel her every breath and the taste of her kiss, was like nothing he had ever experienced. His body tingled with electricity.

The muffled squeak and footsteps racing down the stairs, drew him back to reality and he pulled away from her magnetic grip.

"Molly!" he said, pushing The Woman to one side.

John Watson had a lop sided grin on his face but one Sherlock knew was involuntary. He always looked like that when he was confused and he didn't know what to do.

Sherlock stood helpless, his mind was considering several possibilities all at the same time, rendering him paralysed. He couldn't process the emotions that were crowding out reason and clouding his perfect logic. He felt a dull ache in his heart, as various outcomes laid themselves before him. Molly was all that mattered but what would he do about Irene?

 **END OF CHAPTER**

I don't normally write like this so any feedback would be appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Two Months before the events of the last Chapter.

Sherlock Holmes never walked anywhere. He didn't have the patience for it, every second wasted on his feet and instead of in a black cab, was a second lost and in his business seconds were sometimes the difference between life and death. Today, however, Sherlock was walking. He needed to think things through and to clear his head. Part of him was hoping that the hour's journey from 221B Baker Street to St Bartholomew's Hospital, would convince him that he was making a mistake. His brain told him that this was just madness but that was the problem he now had. He no longer listened to just his brain.

London was chilly. The sun was out but the rays emanating from it were so weak, it would have made no difference if the sun wasn't out at all. He had his black overcoat on, with the collar up for extra warmth. He wore a thick black scarf around his neck and he had black leather gloves on his hands. There was no breeze of any kind at all, it was just another grey and dreary day in the heart of the city. People passed by, not paying him any attention, preoccupied with their own lives. Sherlock had barely ever noticed just how lonely London could be for a city of more than eight million people. Occasionally someone would stare at him for too long, weighing in their minds whether the angular cheekbones, bright green eyes and square jaw, was actually Sherlock Holmes, who thanks to John Watson's blog, was now a minor celebrity.

Sherlock had never had a problem with self-assurance. Some would say he had it in spades. Arrogant. He was always aware of himself and of the stupidity of those less gifted. He had revelled in his gifts and used them for the good of other people. His mind had been his best feature, was his best feature. He was Sherlock Holmes, the one who understood everything before everyone else. He didn't understand this. He walked past Shaftesbury Theatre; in little over half an hour he would be at the hospital and he would see Molly for the first time since the phone call that had changed everything.

He had tried to contact her before. From the text messages that never got replied:

 **Molly we need to talk. SH**

 **I've been ringing you, please pick up. SH**

 **John says he's just picked up Rosie, so I know you are around. Just give me 5 minutes? SH**

 **Molly, please. SH**

 **Molly. SH**

To the many voicemails he had left on her phone. He had memorised her vaguely humorous greeting message about working in a pathology lab, "Hi this is Molly at the dead centre of town. Leave a message." But no return call had ever been made. She had even taken to asking Mrs Hudson to bring Rosie out when she came to collect her. It was as if she had erased Sherlock from her life. Like he no longer mattered. Maybe she had done what he had told her to do many times before in the past and moved on. He felt a lump the size of golf ball in his throat at that thought. What if Molly was over him?

Why should he care that Molly Hooper no longer loved him? What did Sherlock Holmes care about love? Sherlock loved very few people and certainly none of them romantically. It was true that he had recently found a soft spot for the sister he had rediscovered. Eurus had rewritten his memories and unblocked the impediment that had been keeping emotion away. Redbeard. The one who had been in Sherlock's life for such a short time but whose death had made him into the creature of logic he was and not the man he could have become. Romantic love served no purpose and yet here he was, walking to St Bartholomew's Hospital because Molly Hooper had obliterated him from her life.

"You have to show her, Sherlock," John Watson had said to him one morning.

"Show who?" Sherlock said, as he glanced at the newspaper headlines.

John shook his head.

"You haven't been eating. You haven't really been sleeping. You occupy every minute you have with work or Rosie. I don't mind all the extra work Sherlock but since when does the consulting detective find missing cats?"

He sighed.

"You aren't yourself mate and I've been around long enough to know why."

"The cat in question was a rare Siamese and worth a lot of money," Sherlock said.

John had a sad smile on his lips.

"I know what it feels like to lose someone you love, Sherlock. You will too, if you keep burying yourself in unimportant matters. You wouldn't have accepted half the cases we've been on if you were feeling like yourself. If she won't come to you then you have to work for it."

"I didn't know you were a psychiatrist as well, Dr Watson," he said emphasising the doctor.

Watson sighed again.

Sherlock had acted as if the conversation hadn't affected him but he had been replaying it in his head ever since. He crossed the road, ignoring the blaring horn as a car braked sharply to avoid him. The hospital loomed ahead. Where had the time gone? His body was shaking. No one else would have noticed but Sherlock suddenly felt very cold. His stomach felt hollow and his mouth had become so dry, his tongue felt like it was a stone.

He kept thinking about the phone call that had changed everything. Seeing Molly Hooper and knowing she only had minutes to live, had frightened him beyond comprehension. Sherlock valued human life. He would save anyone who needed him but the thought of losing Molly had been terrifying. Then the cruel game that Eurus had devised. Three little words. Sherlock had never seen the importance in saying them or felt their value. But in the moment when saying them meant Molly lived or died, they had taken on another life completely. Had he meant it when she made him say it first, if he was honest to himself, in that moment, he would have said anything to keep her alive. The revelation came later and maybe it came too late.

They let him into the lab without even thinking. He had spent so much time there; he might as well have been staff. He couldn't take the rush of emotion that flooded him, apprehension and excitement at the same time. He opened the door and he felt overwhelmed when he saw her. She was wearing her hair like she used to when he first met her, parted in the middle and tied back in a ponytail. The lab coat suited her like she was born to wear nothing else. Her skin was pale and her cheek bones were more prominent than they had been before. Sherlock felt as if he was walking in glue, every step was heavy.

Molly heard the door open and looked away from the microscope she was peering through. She gasped when she saw who it was. Sherlock couldn't read her face. How he wished at this moment that they could go back in time. He would have acted differently but then he knew that was a lie. He had been a different man then. Much had changed after the East Wind had blown through his life. He was still the same man but the experiences that Eurus had dragged him through had brought something he had lacked for a long time, perspective.

"You shouldn't be here, Sherlock," she said, turning away from him and back to the microscope.

Her hand was trembling.

"Molly," Sherlock began but he couldn't find the words. His tongue felt very thick, like it belonged to someone else.

"You have to leave, Sherlock. Why won't you leave me alone? The voicemails, the texts. Just stop. Haven't you hurt me enough?" her voice was gentle but her tone was firm.

Sherlock withered from her words. He wanted to turn around. He had made a mistake but he couldn't. He had tried to drown himself in work but Molly kept coming back to his mind. Mostly how mean he had been to her and also all the things she had done for him, all the things she was. All the things he needed.

He tried again.

"Molly, I have been terribly cruel to you. I understand now that words hurt and I have used mine so carelessly. I am truly sorry for any hurt I may have caused you. I am still me. Still selfish and arrogant and brilliant but I am not much of me without you, Molly. I understand that the phone call was hard for you but it was hard for me too."

Molly looked up but said nothing. Her eyes were filling with tears.

"I am only just beginning to understand a different kind of love. I know that every day without you has been incredibly unbearable. I am not asking you for anything, right now, Molly. Just what you asked me for before but I never had the eyes to see. Will you have coffee with me tonight? Just coffee and we can take it from there? I meant it when I said you have always counted and in my own way, I meant those words on the phone."

Molly wiped her tears with the sleeve of her coat. She looked at Sherlock with her brown eyes. He didn't need to wait for her answer. His heart sank.

"I understand," he said. It hadn't worked. He was too late.

"Thank you for listening to me," he said turning away from Molly and opening the door. He took one step outside. He felt like he was suffocating. His head was pounding. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that he was drugged.

"Speedy's at 7pm tonight. Just coffee," she whispered.

Sherlock looked back and smiled. Just coffee wasn't a lot but it was a start.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I'm really sorry for taking so long to upload, I will try and post at least once a week from now on. Thank you for all the reviews and likes so far, it encourages me to write faster!**

Mrs Hudson

Sherlock didn't get nervous. He never cared what people thought of him so there was no need to get nervous. He was the man who could wear a deerstalker hat in the national media and not bat an eyelid. Sherlock always said what he meant as soon as he thought it, he had no filter as John would say. The biology of nerves had helped solve a murder once, sweaty palms on a cold December day had helped to catch a killer. Nerves didn't help him as a consulting detective, he needed to be calm, to be cool, to look death in the face and not flinch. To hold people's lives in his hands, he had to be made of ice and most of the time, he was. Not tonight.

"Are you sure about this dear," Mrs Hudson said.

She had come down to the café and was sitting opposite him at a table in the corner.

Was he sure?

"That poor girl has been through enough already, Sherlock. You may never have noticed it even with your x-ray vision but Molly has been unhappy for a very long time. You aren't exactly in a good place yourself."

Sherlock looked up at her. He had been studying the table for the whole time they were sitting but he was still aware of every movement around them. The kitchen was quiet and Speedy's was empty today. The silver tables and the red lined booths were all empty. There were no condiments on the table and the only member of staff was at the back watching TV, waiting for Sherlock's guest to arrive so he could serve them coffee and whatever else they needed. The owner owed Sherlock a favour, and his whole restaurant really. He would do anything for Sherlock Holmes.

"I don't need a pep talk," he said to Mrs Hudson. His gaze would normally make her recoil but she could see more in his eyes than he wanted her to.

"Oh, Sherlock," she sighed, and then she smiled. It was a sad sort of smile, her mouth looping on one side and no teeth in show, like she was somewhere else.

"I remember the first time I fell in love," She said, "Not the kind of love you get at school, and you keep staring at them and then as soon as someone better looking comes along you move on. I mean the real thing Sherlock. My husband had his faults…"

"He was a drug dealer…" Sherlock interrupted.

Mrs Hudson tutted and continued.

"He would do anything for me and I for him."

Sherlock was thinking as she spoke, Molly would have died for him. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him. When he had needed to disappear, it was Molly who had helped him with his conjuring trick. Molly who had kept his secret. And he had passed Eurus' test to save her life.

"I remember the fights, Sherlock, you always fight with the ones you love you know, we had some real corkers but even when I was mad with him, I still cared about him. Like every sharp word was just a measure of how much I cared."

Sherlock could feel her palm against his cheek again, not once, not twice but three times as Molly struck him, the day she thought he was taking drugs again. The slaps themselves didn't hurt him, hadn't hurt him. He had barely even acknowledged the pain; it was her eyes, doe brown and intense. Sherlock saw everything but he also dismissed more than he paid attention to, he had to. He focused only on the essentials and ignored everything else. Her eyes hadn't mattered that day but they should have. How could he have missed so much when he missed nothing at all? The rage that had burnt for him because she was worried about him. The anger that had roared like a fire. A smack that was a really a kiss. An expression of love.

"Most men don't even notice when a woman changes her hair. How many times have you commented on my hair, Sherlock? My husband knew every detail about me. Every mark, every blemish, every change of clothes. I put a flower in my hair once when we went to Ascot a white tulip. It fell in the Ladies Room and I saw a woman selling roses so I swapped it. Most men wouldn't have noticed, Sherlock. I know you would have seen it but would such a small change have mattered enough to mention? He told me the rose was even better, because everything about me mattered to him."

Sherlock could hear the words coming out of his own mouth, "Have you changed your lipstick, Molly?" "Have you taken it off?" "You looked better with it on." "Are wearing red lipstick to detract from the size of lips and your breasts?" They were just observations but how many times had he pointed out anyone's lips as much as he had Molly's? How many times had he spoken about any woman's breasts? Why was he always so aware of her appearance? He noticed Molly Hooper, from the cut of her nut-brown hair, her thin inviting lips or even her small supple breasts. Sherlock knew every inch of Molly Hooper.

"The worst moment was when he died, Sherlock. If you hadn't saved me, I would probably have killed myself. The thought of losing him was like breathing something different to air. I didn't know what life I could have without him. I would give anything to have him back, but you know what they say about having loved and lost dear," Mrs Hudson said, dabbing her eyes with a pearl white handkerchief.

The bell above the door rattled. Sherlock always sat facing the door and he had even been watching the passers-by through the bay windows. He had become so absorbed in Mrs Hudson's story and his own thoughts, he had lost track of where he was. The door rattling shook him out of his reverie.

She looked like he had never seen her before. She was wearing lipstick again, not a lot, just a light shading that accentuated the shape of her mouth. Her skin was pale from too many hours spent in the lab and yet it suited her somehow, it fit with her whole allure. She wore light blue jeans and a brown coat with all the buttons done. He couldn't take his eyes of her, even if he'd tried to look away, her gravitational pull seemed to have him in its grip.

"The way he used to look at me," Mrs Hudson said.

Sherlock barely heard her.

"Good luck, dear," she whispered as she got up.

Sherlock took a deep breath as he slid out of the chair, he was going to need it.


	4. Chapter 4

His Heart

Molly didn't even bother taking off her coat. Sherlock knew he was on borrowed time. The lip stick had given him hope but her manner had extinguished every drop of it, like water on a fire. She placed her hands on the table and then clasped them in front of her. Not before Sherlock had noticed how short her fingernails were, he knew she was a nail biter but this was verging on cannibalism, she had almost drawn blood.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" she said, looking into his eyes, "I know you didn't bring me here to stare at my hands."

"Molly…" he started to say, "Would you like something to drink?"

"I've been fine, Sherlock. I swore to myself after that final humiliation that I would never speak to you again. What you did was beyond cruel. You knew how I felt and you toyed with my feelings."

Sherlock started to say something, but his mouth was dry, and his voice cracked.

"No, Sherlock. I'm tired of your apologies and excuses. Everyone told me I was a fool for seeing the best in you. I have known sadness, Sherlock, and I thought I could see some of the same pain in you despite how hard you tried to hide it. It wasn't the brilliance that made feel the way I felt, it was your heart, Sherlock, back when I thought you had one."

Her voice was level and the words themselves had been soft but there was a hardness in her resolve that Sherlock had never heard before. A single tear slid down her rosy cheek. Sherlock Holmes felt claustrophobic, but it was as if more than the walls were closing in. Sherlock who always had a word to say, whose mind was several paces ahead of every other and whose understanding of the human psyche was beyond that of mere men, was lost.

"It was Eurus," Sherlock blurted out "She said she would kill you."

"And you think that you saved me?" She said, her voice high and she let out a hollow laugh.

"I didn't know, Molly," he said, barely managing to look at her face.

"You who knows everything? Was there no other way to save me, Sherlock? Was there nothing else that the great detective could have done? If you cared about me at all, you would never have played her game."

"I thought she would kill you. I wanted you to live," he whispered.

"Death would have been better than this. Have you ever had your heart shredded into bits? How can you know how this feels? Why did you bring me here, Sherlock? John has already told me about Eurus, but I'm sorry I can't forgive you. This must be goodbye Sherlock. I can't see you anymore, don't you know how much it hurts?"

Her tears seemed to cut him more than her words, like a scalpel slicing into his skin. Molly was sobbing now but she made no attempt to stop the flow. Her gaze was still level and she was still staring at him, her brown eyes boring into him.

"Rosie needs both her Godparen.."

"Don't you dare bring her into this," Molly said, her voice still steady.

Sherlock would have given anything for emotion, even anger. Across the table, Molly dabbed at her eyes with a napkin from the table. Her skin was blotchy where the tears had been. She seemed to have shrunk in the time she had been there but to Sherlock she still looked beautiful. He knew his time was up. Molly would be gone in a matter of moments, not out of his life, he would always catch glimpses of her because of John and Rosie, but gone in the way that mattered. Closed to him forever.

"No," he said with more force than he meant to, causing her to jump.

"It's not your choice anymore, Sherlock," she said.

"But this is," he said.

"You have been worried about this meeting since this afternoon and you left work early. You could have come straight from St Barts to this café in the clothes you wear to work but you chose to go and change. You've been drinking from the bottle Lestrade gave you at Christmas, your fingers aren't just bleeding from your nail biting, you were shaking so much hurt yourself with the cockscrew. You only wear lipstick when you want someone to notice you. When you want me to notice you," Sherlock said, his voice stronger than he felt.

"I'm not a puzzle to be solved," she said her eyes blazing.

"Just shut up and listen, Molly," he interrupted, "I have always noticed you. You never needed the lipstick. You have always mattered to me. You have been a closer friend to me than even John Watson, the one who always sees me even when he can't. It was to you I turned when I needed to disappear and it was your bed I slept in when I needed somewhere to rest. I can't turn my mind off, Molly. My mind is who I am, these puzzles are what keep me alive, but they are not all I am.

"I do have a heart, Molly. I know how it feels to have one break and to have it crushed by someone you care about. When Redbeard died, something in me broke and I became a machine fuelled by drugs or puzzles, never stopping to feel only to think. John Watson changed that, then Mary and then Rosie. I felt in ways that I had never felt before and I loved them and would die for them. You were different. I cared about you in ways I had sworn never to and didn't know how to. I understood the chemistry behind love but who needed the defects that those chemicals produced? Not the well-oiled machine that is Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock felt like he was in a daze. He could tell that she was hanging onto his every word but he didn't know if it was too late now. His chest was being compressed as if being squeezed by an unseen hand. This was it. This was the moment. He was terrified, he had never experienced anything akin to this. Death he had stared in the eye and laughed, Molly Hooper's eyes were infinitely more terrifying, it was death of a worse kind.

He stood up and she flinched as he went around the table. Sherlock knelt next to her and took her trembling hands in his. Her hands were cold but touching them sent an electric shock that permeated through his whole being.

"Molly, I'm thankful in a way for what Eurus did, if she'd never forced me to make that call, I would never have spoken the most truthful words I have ever said. I love you, Molly Hooper. I have loved you for longer than I realised but I was too broken to know what it was. I'm sorry for the all pain I have caused you and if you don't want to see me again after this I will understand but I will not stop chasing you. I have hunted criminals across borders and all over the world, and none of them have mattered even half as much as you do. I am far from perfect, Molly but I love you with all my flaws and I want to be more than friends, if you'll have me."

Molly stood still, as if frozen in time. Sherlock couldn't tell how long he'd been on his knees staring into her doe brown eyes as even more tears cascaded like a waterfall. Speedy's would be open for as long as they needed it to be, he didn't need to worry about that but her response worried him. Had he been too late this time? Was this the one case that he would be doomed to fail, the case of his heart?

Molly pulled her hands away from his slowly. She stood up and Sherlock stood up with her, towering over her. She was shaking her head and she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

"Is this true, Sherlock?" was all she could say.

Even words failed him and he simply nodded.

"I'll need time.." she started to say.

"As much as you need," he said cutting her off.

And then she hugged him. She threw herself at him and he caught her in his arms absorbing the shocks that tingled down his spine. She started to laugh whilst clinging to him and for some reason he felt the urge to laugh too. Definitely not what he had expected but it was a beginning and that was all he had been hoping for.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you for reading and for all the reviews. I'm sorry I haven't written for a while but I'm hoping to finish this soon. Your reviews really help me to write more and quicker. And I completed this chapter extra quick as a thank you for all the love the last chapter got, I hope you enjoy this one.**

The bow slid across the strings of the violin with grace, and it sounded terrible. The noise was like a symphony of pigs and Sherlock let out a yell of frustration. He couldn't seem to get it right today. Here of all places where his playing was most important, the instrument would not perform for him; it was almost a betrayal.

"It's not the violin," a quiet voice said.

If he had been anyone else, he would have dropped the violin from shock, but Sherlock was not anybody else.

There was an invisible wall separating him and the thin woman with scraggly brown hair. She wore a white gown that engulfed her skeletal limbs. Her skin was very pale as if she had rubbed herself in chalk, like someone who rarely went outside, which she didn't. She had high cheekbones that greatly resembled Sherlock's but, apart from that, her face was unremarkable until one arrived at her eyes, which twinkled with intelligence and were a piercing shade of green.

Sherlock found himself inching towards the glass walls that were virtually impenetrable and completely transparent in utter amazement; Eurus hadn't said a word in nearly four months.

"You spoke," he said before he could stop himself.

"And you have a real gift for pointing out the obvious," she said without humour, "I quite like it when you visit and we play the violin together and I know that until we solve your little problem with Molly, you won't be able to produce any good notes."

Sherlock didn't even bother asking how she knew. Eurus Holmes was a generational genius, she understood more about the universe and people than the leading scientists and psychologists of the day, and she was also surprisingly well connected for someone locked up in the most secure prison in Europe.

"You haven't said anything for three months, Eurus. Nothing," Sherlock said.

"Because there was nothing to say. We communicated well enough didn't we. Now it's necessary. Tell me your problem so we can get back to what's really important," she said sitting on the floor cross legged, facing him.

Sherlock sighed, joined her on the floor, and told her.

Molly Hooper had sent him a text the day after their conversation at Speedy's which was now two and a half months ago:

OK, Sherlock. MH xxx

It had been a simple beginning and for Sherlock, a journey into the unknown. Having John Watson was the closest he'd ever been to a relationship and with John he knew where he stood, with Molly he quickly realised that everything he thought he knew about relationships and the psychology of women, needed revising. When it came to John's girlfriends, it was woefully simple, he understood their feeble minds and their petty issues without even trying, Molly was proving to be more difficult. His mind had never failed him and logic had been his principal weapon, until now. Nothing about love was logical.

Their first date had been dinner at The Red Lobster Bistro in Soho Square. Molly had looked stunning in an exquisite black dress which hugged her body in just the right places. Sherlock blushed as he found he didn't know quite where to look, which only made Molly giggle.

"You're supposed to look," she'd said, "Just you."

And that was the other problem during those first days. Sherlock was often incapable of the quick responses that he was normally a master of. For the first time he cared about how his words would make someone else feel and instead of saying the first sharp barb that crossed his equally sharp mind, he had to consider his words, meaning he often stuttered through conversations with Molly.

They sat across from each other on the best table in one of the most exclusive restaurants in London. A bottle of champagne had arrived with a note that everything was on the house.

"Is everything always free for you, Sherlock? What did you do? Did you save his business as well?" Molly said smiling.

"Even better. I found his wife's lover. He hadn't signed a prenup and he was approaching a very expensive divorce," Sherlock said with a smile.

"So, all of this is to impress me? You don't have to. I've been impressed for a very long time. Fish and chips would have been fine."

"Not for the first time. Molly, I've never been on a real date," he said.

Molly gasped.

"Never. What about Janine?"

"Real. Janine was work, this is pleasure," he drawled.

"Did you think it would ever be like this?" she said, with content.

"I think I always did, Molly. That's why I pushed you away a lot of the time. It was easier when it wasn't a possibility, but you have always been important."

"I never thought you wanted me, I knew you needed me but to be wanted," Molly said taking a breath, "Not when Irene was there, with her perfect naked body."

Sherlock laughed and reached clumsily across the table.

"Who would want Irene when they can have you?" he said, with more confidence than he felt.

As the night ended and Sherlock walked her home, his first real dilemma started as they approached her doorstep.

"You didn't kiss her," Eurus said, a statement not a question.

Sherlock shook his head. How could he explain the weird sensation in his stomach and the waves of uncertainty that gushed through him? How could he tell her that he'd desperately wanted to but found himself second guessing his very thoughts. He could tell that she wanted him to. Lips parted, pupils dilated, she'd even tiptoed. He didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to tell what should have happened next.

"You kissed her cheek, like she was your grandmother," Eurus said cutting through his thoughts.

He nodded, the misery written on his face.

"I know how this ends and what you need to do but I'll let you tell your story. You've always been the emotional one, Sherlock. Mycroft had brains, I had even more but you may not have the same intellectual ability, but you feel more. Continue please."

One of the things he was growing to appreciate about Molly was her infinite patience with him. It had been almost three months since their first date and she'd never forced him to, even though he knew how important physical intimacy was to her. He had never realised just how funny Molly Hooper was or just how much she did for other people, not just him. She was a good listener. Not just about his cases and he told her all about them without reservation. She provided good insights, things that he had obviously noticed but pretended to be finding out for the first time to make her feel useful, which was entirely unSherlock. And he was learning more about himself too.

They had reached her door after a night listening to Jazz in Tottenham Court Road. Molly loved jazz and Sherlock had got tickets to see her favourite saxophone player who was in London for one night only. He liked doing things for her and how he felt when he knew she was happy. They had barely listened to the music, making observations of the people around them whilst holding hands under the table. Sherlock had told her about Redbeard that night. The first time he had talked to anyone outside of John and Mycroft about how he still had nightmares about that well. Molly had listened, patient as always.

She gave him a hug before rummaging in her bag for the door keys.

"Are we still taking Rosie to the museum tomorrow," she asked, turning the key in the door.

Sherlock grunted a reply and as she turned to ask him what he'd said, he felt an uncontrollable urge in his chest, like he would die unless he tasted her lips. He felt drawn to her like a magnet. It was as if he was drowning and Molly Hooper alone was the kiss of life. He had never wanted anything more in his life and yet something seemed to be pulling him back.

"You stayed the night," Eurus said again, "but that's all you did, isn't it Sherlock."

He nodded.

He had been surprised by the intensity of his emotions, how much he needed her, and frightened. He had never just surrendered to his feelings before and he felt like he was flying too close to the sun. Like he would be incinerated. Without realising, they had made their way through the house and into her bedroom.

Sherlock sat on the edge of her bed. He looked at her, struck again but how beautiful she always looked even after a day at work and a long night out. Her hair was out place with bits sticking out, her make up was smudged but there was something about her that was still so alluring.

"Can I sleep here tonight, Molly?" he said, the heat colouring his cheeks.

Molly was silent as if not sure she'd just heard him.

"Whenever you like, Sherlock, you know that," she finally said, her voice trembling.

"And can I hold you?"

"All night," she said leaning into him.

Eurus coughed.

"But that's all you did? All night? And when does The Woman get involved in this? And shut your mouth, you are not a goldfish."

The problems had started a few days before he'd been to see Eurus. For some reason the conversation had never come up, they had been skirting around the topic, Molly Hooper long suffering and understanding but Sherlock could tell that there was a storm brewing. She had been off somehow. Snapping at small things and sitting in silence, which rarely happened. Molly always had something to say.

"Do you know it's three months, next Wednesday, Sherlock?"

"Is it?" He said absentmindedly, his mind preoccupied with a document the Prime Minister had asked him to find.

"It's probably been the best three months of my life, but I feel like something is missing," Molly said.

"The papers are missing," Sherlock said without thinking as if reciting from a book. He knew the Russians were involved somehow.

"And you know how important intimacy is in a relationship don't you?" her voice was dangerously low.

"Lack of intimacy is one of the of the top three causes of divorce. Colonel Stepanov was seen at London Bridge last Tuesday," he said, thinking out loud.

"Do you think I'm beautiful? Do you want to kiss me?" her voice was even lower, but Sherlock didn't hear the warnings.

"Of course you're beautiful. Or was it General Abramov? But he was in Scotland, wasn't he?" Sherlock said, mostly to himself.

"I know you're a virgin and I don't mind waiting but I really want you to kiss me."

He knew as he said it that it was going to cost him but it had slipped out, his focus still on absconding Russians.

"I'm not a virgin," he said.

The air was instantly colder as if a window had been opened letting in an Arctic wind. Sherlock had been sitting on the sofa, eyes closed going through the facts whilst Molly distracted herself with a baking show on TV. It was after nine but it was still light outside, London in the summer, and a heat wave had caused the room to be a sauna. Not anymore.

"What?" she whispered, the sound escaping like a hiss.

His eyes opened.

"Who?" she said.

He stood up, a muscle in his back unknotting as he stretched. He could already tell that no answer would be the right answer and the real answer was the wrong answer. Molly had stood up too now. She was wearing plain cotton pyjamas and her brown hair was tied up, ready for bed. Her expression didn't look sleepy.

"Who, Sherlock?"

"The Woman," he mumbled, wishing he was anywhere but here. John Watson never had these problems he thought.

"Irene Adler?!" she screamed, "I thought she was dead!"

"I sort of saved her," he said looking away from her. He knew how the rest of the conversation would go so he attempted to resolve the problem before it became one.

"She wanted to say thank you. They were going to behead her, Molly. It was one time," he said.

"You slept with _her_ , but won't you even _kiss_ ME?!" she screamed and then without warning, she burst into tears.

Eurus whistled.

"She needs to be more observant, that girlfriend of yours. I knew the moment you played that melody that you'd slept with Irene. And I know the answer to your question before you ask it. You are very good at seeing through other people, Sherlock, you are not so good at seeing into yourself. Tell me about The Woman then."

There wasn't much more to say. He had asked Molly to come to Baker Street so he could apologise, only Irene had got there first and she'd forced herself on him and kissed just as Molly happened to walk in.

"And you came here instead of going after your girlfriend?"

He nodded.

"Ask me the question then?"

"But you already know it?" he muttered.

"Just ask me, Sherlock," she said the edges of her mouth crinkling.

"Why could I sleep with Irene, but I can't even kiss Molly? It's not that I don't want to."

Eurus took a deep breath, for a moment the loving sister he needed and not the psychopathic super computer she was, and started to speak.

"It's the difference between you and Mycroft, Sherlock. The head and the heart. I told you that you've always been emotional. It doesn't matter to you when it means nothing. The question is what do you want?"


End file.
